Tempted by the Wrong Twin (Texas Cattleman's Club: Blackmail 8)

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. So instead she reached for him again and focused on touching him, on feeling him touch her.

His hands sliding down her sides, across her stomach, felt like fire licking at her skin. In idle moments she’d wondered if their electric connection that first night had been because of its illicit nature, and whether making love with him now that he was her husband would have less of an edge. Less intensity. Now she had her answer. He...they...this was so much more than anything she’d experienced before. More than she’d imagined.

She pulled at his shirt where it was tucked into his trousers. Then, not bothering with the buttons, she tugged it over his head. His skin was beautiful, so beautiful, and the scars and marks that showed his history of putting his body on the line for others only made it more beautiful. The muscle definition on his abs was crazy—he’d obviously kept up whatever training the SEALs had him doing—and the crisp hair scattered across his chest called to her fingers. As she walked her fingertips over the dark hair, he shivered, and she smiled, glad she wasn’t the only one affected this badly.

He captured her mouth. Not breaking the searing kiss, he took a step backward, taking her with him, then another, until they reached the edge of the bed. He finally released her mouth, grinned wickedly and fell backward onto the mattress, bringing her down on top of him.

The sensuous slide of their bodies set every nerve ending she had alight, but it wasn’t enough. She reached for his belt, wanting all the fabric separating them gone, but he stayed her hand.

?

??Not yet,” he said, his voice unsteady.

She could feel the blood pump through her body, strong and insistent. “I want more, now.”

“No can do,” he said as his thumb grazed the curve of her breast.

A delicious shiver raced over her skin, and she had to wait a moment for it to pass before she could speak again. “Why the holdup?”

“I want this to take all night.” He hooked his fingers in the scraps of fabric around her hips and dragged them down over her legs before letting her underwear follow her bra over the side of the bed to the floor. “We have a lot to make up for.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, starting to lose her train of thought.

“The night of the ball, our first time, it was rushed.” He kissed a trail down the inside of her arm to her wrist, his hair tickling her ribs as he went.

She gasped, then found her breath again to reply. “I thought it was excellent.”

Grinning, he caressed a pattern on her stomach. “Phenomenal.”

“Then what’s the problem?” She slid her leg up his thigh and hooked it around him, locking his hips against hers. What a shame he was being reluctant about removing his trousers...

“Now that we have more time,” he said, rocking against her in defiance of his words, “I want to take it slow. To do all the things we didn’t get around to.”

He kissed her again, and while his mouth was busy, she unzipped his trousers and pushed them—and his boxers—as far down his legs as she could reach. Then she broke the kiss to remove them all the way before smiling back up at him. “See, it’s all about your perspective.”

He dipped his hand down until it slid between her legs, moving in patterns and with a rhythm that was going to drive her crazy. The way one corner of his mouth hooked up as he spoke told her he knew the effect he was having. “What other way is there to look at it?”

Her eyes drifted closed, but even if she couldn’t see him, she could feel him everywhere. “You want this to be different from last time.”

“I do,” he said, his voice husky as his hand still moved to the melody of silent music.

“See, I’m thinking that’s too prescriptive—” she paused to moisten her lips so her mouth could form the words “—for making love.”

His hand stilled, and she opened her eyes to see him. His gaze was squarely on her, his brow creased as if he was trying to discern where she was going with this. “What do you have in mind?”

“That we stop thinking and just let it happen.” There was something about his skin that she couldn’t get enough of. Its texture, its scent. She dipped her tongue to sample the skin just above his collarbone, and dug her fingernails into his back. Dug them in and dragged them lightly across his shoulder blades. She could touch this man forever.

“I like your idea...really like it—” he drew in a quick breath and swallowed hard “—but I still want to take it slow.”

Deciding the time for talking—for negotiating—was over, she found the foil packet on the bedside table and quickly sheathed him before pushing at his shoulder until he rolled onto his back. She rose up over him and hesitated. The sight of him lain out on the bed, for her, the perfection of him, was overwhelming. He reached out, found her hand and linked their fingers palm to palm. It was exactly what she needed, securing her in the moment, grounding her. Then she sank down onto him, and, as their bodies connected, he let out a guttural groan.

She moved, drunk with desire, and he matched her rhythm, so they danced together as one. She was flying, free—the only things that mattered were Nick and the pleasure that was engulfing her.

He hooked his hands behind her knees and held them, anchoring her, changing the angle, and wave after wave of blinding heat consumed her as she imploded. While aftershocks still assailed her body, Nick called her name and a fierce shudder ripped through him.

Breathing ragged, she slid down to lie beside him, a possessive hand across his stomach, and he looped an arm around her shoulders. Cocooned with him, by him, her world slowly returned to normal, and she drifted off to sleep.

Six